Mellington Hall Read online

  “Go to the Allysons for help,” Sarah finished for her, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile. “I will be all right.”

  Phillip didn’t say anything else, but hugged his daughter firmly before getting up into the cart and slapping the reins for the horse to start forward.

  Sarah was glad her father was showing his confidence in her. Usually a stickler for convention, it had surprised her a little. But then he’d also encouraged her to do things that were perhaps not considered normal behaviour for a young lady.

  But that was the difference between her mother’s ideas about her daughter, and her father’s. Sarah’s mother had been born Lady Claire Pennerly, eldest child of Sir Alistair Pennerly, and with no brothers in the family, the first in line to inherit her father’s estate. But Phillip Montgomery had changed all that. Phillip had been the gamekeeper on the Pennerly estate, and had been unable to resist the beautiful young daughter of his employer. Claire had flouted convention when she decided that she would prefer to marry the man she loved than remain the privileged heir of the Pennerly estate. And Sir Alistair had held strictly to convention when he had disinherited his daughter and made her younger sister, Elizabeth, his heir.

  Claire had married Phillip, and they had started a new life together on another estate, and had brought up their one surviving child happily, though at times, Claire tried to shape Sarah as if she belonged in a privileged nursery. As a result, Sarah was educated to within an inch of her life in all the modern languages, music and decorum, but, also knew exactly how to run a house, and how to cope with the outside chores of an ordinary farm house. Sarah could be a lady, if she ever had the call to be one, and she could be a farm hand, which was an opportunity available to her nearly every day.

  Today and possibly for the next three weeks, she was in charge of the Montgomery farm. It was just a small concern, since Phillip also worked on the Mellington estate as gamekeeper. It was the first time Sarah’s parents had left her alone, and Claire would never have gone if it hadn’t been such a serious situation. Claire’s sister, Lady Elizabeth Mainstone had sent word that their father, Lord Pennerly, was on his deathbed, and that he wished to restore relationship with his eldest daughter. It had both surprised and gladdened Claire, as she had mourned the loss of her family. She knew it had been her own choice, and she also accepted that her marriage to Phillip was the better of the two options she had been faced with, but she had loved her father, despite his strict conservative views, and his stubbornness. When her sister had written, Claire had no difficulty in convincing her husband that they needed to go.

  Now the lady in charge of their very small estate, Sarah took pleasure in deciding what needed to be done, and she began by setting the wash tub out and scrubbing the few clothes and dishcloths that needed washing, and hanging them in the breeze. Her next chore was baking bread enough to last her three or four days. When she went to see if the clothes had dried, she noticed a chill in the air that probably indicated the weather would turn bad. She brought the still damp clothes indoors, and draped them around the fire. There was little chance of them drying outside, with it being so cold and damp.

  By midafternoon, Sarah realised she would need to take the sled out to gather more wood from the woodpile in the old thatched outbuilding some distance from the house. Her father had plenty of wood stacked up there, but Sarah noticed there wasn’t much kindling, which she would need to stir up the banked embers in the morning. So she took the opportunity to go farther from the house than she usually would, gathering small sticks and some pinecones that she felt would be useful. The overcast skies were mournful, not that Sarah was worried about that, but the wind had picked up, even while she was out gathering wood. She kept a keen eye on the weather, and since she was only ten minutes walk from the house, she felt that if the clouds got too threatening, it wouldn’t take long for her to get back indoors.

  But that was before she came across the man lying unconscious in the bushes. Sarah was not familiar with him, but he was obviously one of the gentlemen from up at Mellington Hall. Upon close inspection, she saw he was in his late twenties or early thirties, and despite his dishevelled state, she saw that he was a handsome man. But handsome or not, he was also without a coat, and she saw that blood soaked his white shirt.

  Quickly she knelt next to him to see if he was still alive. She put her ear next to his mouth and found, to her relief that he was breathing, though it was very shallow.

  “Sir!” She tapped his cheeks lightly to see if she could rouse him. “Sir! Can you hear me?”

  But there was no response.

  Loosening his cravat, and undoing the buttons of his shirt, Sarah dared to draw the bloodstained cloth back to look at the wound, and saw that it had in fact stopped bleeding. Then she noticed another wound at the top of his leg.

  Shot? The one word went through her mind. It certainly looked like the result of a gunshot wound. A hunting accident? It must be. Surely.

  Not that there was anyone to answer her thoughts. But she didn’t waste time speculating on what had happened, instead she quickly threw all the gathered wood off the sled, and brought it close to the injured man. She didn’t stop to think why she hadn’t felt sick or faint at the sight of blood, or that perhaps a lady should at the very least have swooned. Her mother’s lessons in ladylike behaviour were quite forgotten.

  “Sir!” she slapped his face a little harder this time, and spoke with more force, hoping to rouse him. “Wake up, sir. I need you to help me!”

  But despite the fact that she felt his face must be stinging, he didn’t respond at all, so she had no choice but to try to move him herself.

  He was a dead weight as she tried to get him on the sled. For a few moments she felt mounting panic that she might not be able to do it, but she had never been one to give up easily, so she persisted, praying fervently as she worked, and eventually managed to roll the man onto the flat bed of the sled.

  The man let out a low groan of pain as he was rolled onto his injured side before coming to rest.

  “I am very sorry,” Sarah said hastily as she continued to make him secure, “but you could really have helped by being conscious you know!” She didn’t expect him to respond, and he didn’t, while she took off her own heavy overcoat, and tucked it carefully around him. By the fact that she could see his chest rising and falling, she knew he wasn’t yet dead, but she was of the opinion, that if she didn’t do something very quickly he very soon would be. Her own house was the nearest by a long way, so she put all her energy into dragging the sled across the uneven ground. A wish for snow to make the sled go easier went through her mind, and almost as if she had conjured it up, the heavy clouds decided to cooperate. Snow began to fall thick and fast, and with it, the wind picked up, so by the time Sarah was within sight of the house, she could hardly see its outline. Now there was certainly snow underfoot, and Sarah guessed that if it continued in this fashion, it would soon be thick everywhere. It looked very much as if a blizzard was descending upon them.

  It hadn’t been easy getting the injured man inside, and Sarah decided there was no way she was going to be able to get him up the steep steps that led to the bedrooms in the loft, so she left him by the fire in the kitchen, and quickly went upstairs to drag down the feather mattress and blankets from her parents’ bed. She made a bed up on the floor near the fire, and practically rolled her patient into it. Each time she had to move him, the pain must have been so great it registered even in his unconscious state, for he continued to groan, and she continued to apologise, though she doubted that he could even hear her.

  Once he was beginning to get warm by the fire, she brought water and tried to make him drink, hoping that he would rouse to take even a little water at least. He seemed to respond as she held the glass to his lips, but he didn’t awaken completely. Then she went about examining his wounds. She didn’t know a lot about gunshot wounds, but she had watched the village doctor treat her father for splinters that ha
d flown up from the axe while chopping wood, and had embedded themselves into his flesh. On that occasion the doctor had said the foreign body needed to be removed to prevent infection.

  Sarah felt she probably needed the doctor to come and do the job, but by the time she had her patient cleaned up, and warm, she went to the door and saw that no one would be able to go out into that storm. The snow had quickly piled up all around the house, and the blizzard continued to howl. There was nothing to do but go back inside and do the very best she could in the situation.

  She decided to make some broth which she hoped would help the injured man if she could get him to swallow it.

  “What use is there in knowing French and Italian, when what I need to know is how to treat this poor man?” she asked herself out loud. She wasn’t sure whether she should just leave him to fate, or whether she should actually do something to help prevent an infection. Already, she was of the opinion that his exposure to the cold must have caused hypothermia. She’d heard about that condition before, and she did what she knew must be done to treat it, including trying to get him to swallow the warm broth, but with little success.

  Standing over him, watching him carefully, Sarah began to think through what should be done. She’d warmed him, and tried to get him to drink, but the problem of the lead shot still lodged in his body was foremost in her mind. Once again she realised that according to her mother’s education she should have swooned completely, but that was neither sensible nor helpful, so she decided she would just have to muddle along as best she could with what she knew.

  Trying not to think of just how horrified her mother would be, she set about taking his shirt off, apologising the whole time, and steeled herself to focus on the wound and only the wound. She washed the blood away, and could see that there was no exit wound on the back of the shoulder, and concluded that the shot must still be embedded in his flesh. Already she was going over in her mind just how she might cut it out, but didn’t commit to any of her ideas until she had examined the second wound. Realising she would have to cut his trousers away caused her to pause for a few minutes while she argued with herself.

  I don’t know what I’m doing. This is highly improper, and I should go for help!

  But she went to the door again, and not only was the storm still howling, and the snow piled higher, but it was now completely dark. To venture out would be pure foolishness.

  But if I don’t get that lead out, the wounds will become infected.

  She knew what had to be done, and felt that she actually had the stomach to do it. What bothered her more than the gruesome act of cutting his flesh was what decent society would say about her staring at his partially naked body.

  The internal argument was resolved when she came to the conclusion that she could not sit passively by and watch him die. She would do what had to be done, no matter how improper.

  Without stopping to think about it for another second, she took a large pair of scissors and cut his trousers away and revealed the second wound, much like the one in his shoulder, the lead shot still lodged in his upper thigh.

  Having made her decision, she firmly suppressed her qualms, and went about looking for the equipment she would need. She chose a small sharp peeling knife, and used the kitchen steel to make the blade razor sharp. Then she searched through the needle box to find the largest darning needle they owned, and a spool of very strong black thread. She recalled the doctor talking about sterilising his equipment, and had seen him boil his instruments, so even though she didn’t really understand why, she put the knife, needle and thread in a pan of water, stoked the fire in the stove and allowed them to come to the boil for a good five minutes. Waiting for the water to boil was another opportunity for her self-doubt to undermine her resolve, but she remained firm. She could not –would not – sit by and watch this man die without at least trying to save his life.

  As she began to work, she realised that her mother would have been very cross if she had known that Sarah had even dared to watch the doctor remove those splinters of wood from her father’s leg. She wasn’t the squeamish sort, and had been fascinated at the time. Now she realised those moments of forbidden viewing were her education for the challenge before her. Just how strong was her stomach? She took a deep breath to fortify her courage, and, armed only with her common sense and imagination to guide her, she tried to decide which angle would be best to cut near the wound.

  It had taken a couple of hours, but Sarah felt satisfied that she had done the right thing, and she had surprised herself at just how strong her stomach was. Though she had been so tense, beads of perspiration had formed on her brow, her fingers had remained steady and she had managed to pull the edges of the wounds together with the large needle and thread. Now they were firmly bandaged with strips torn from one of the bed sheets. Sarah had the sick man lying in a fashion she hoped would be comfortable, and during a moment of semi-consciousness she had managed to induce him to swallow some broth. But still, he seemed to drift in and out of delirium.

  By the time she had finished the doctoring, and had cleaned up the bowl of blood-soaked rags, she saw it was quite late into the night. She didn’t have to check to know that the storm still howled outside, but she wasn’t too worried, as there was enough wood to keep the fire burning the whole night. She suddenly realised that she was bone weary herself after all the tension of finding the wounded stranger, and tending him alone. The idea of simply climbing the steps to her own bed was appealing, but she was afraid that she would sleep so deeply that the fire would go out, or the patient’s fever might rise too high. She felt she needed to watch over him for the whole night, so she pulled her mother’s rocking chair closer to the fire, and after fetching her own bed quilt, settled herself close to the makeshift bed. She would allow herself to doze, but that was all.

  Alan regained consciousness sometime during the dark night, but he was so ill, he couldn’t move or do anything at all, other than gaze groggily at his surroundings. It was clear he was lying in front of a fireplace, the coals only just glowing. In the dim light of the embers, he could see a young woman asleep in a rocking chair right by the foot of his mattress. He didn’t know who she was, but she looked sweet. Not like the sort who would try to kill a man. Fatigue overwhelmed him again, and he closed his eyes and fell back to sleep, feeling rather more secure with an angel watching over him.

  It was the chill in the room that woke Sarah. Her neck was stiff from having fallen forward during the hours she had slept. It was so dark that she realised she had let the fire die down, and worried that she wouldn’t be able to get it going again. Moving carefully in the dark, she took the candle from the sideboard near her, and knelt down to see what she could do. The coals were warm, and there was only a slight glow left in them, but she was able to light the candle with a taper. She looked in the wood box, and saw there were several logs left and some smaller pieces, but no kindling. But she had some paper, so she screwed it up and blew gently, hoping that it would bring the coals back to life enough to revive the fire. She was relieved to see the paper flare up, and carefully coaxed the fire to blaze and crackle, adding some of the smaller wood and another two logs. She looked at the tall grandfather clock which was one heirloom that her mother had managed to keep, and saw that it was four in the morning. She guessed that she would have just enough wood to keep the place warm until daybreak, and then come what may, she was going to have to go out into the weather to get more wood.

  While she was awake, she decided to check on her patient. Kneeling down next to him, she touched his forehead, and was relieved to feel his temperature seemed to be normal. Just as she was about to get up, she noticed that the man had opened his eyes, and was looking at her.

  “Hello,” she smiled at him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty!” That was all Alan could manage to get out.

  “Of course! I’m sorry, I should have thought.” Sarah immediately got up, fetched a cup of water and brought it over fo
r him. But he was too weak to even take the cup from her.

  “Here, let me help you,” she said kindly. She put the cup down, sat down on the mattress next to his head, and lifted his head and shoulders up to rest on her knee.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologised, as he groaned with pain. She knew she had hurt his shoulder. More carefully now, she lifted the cup for him to drink.

  Alan drank thirstily. “Thank you,” he said simply when he’d had as much as he could take.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you or can do for you?”

  “Where am I? Who are you?” Alan eased himself back into the pillow, as Sarah carefully got up and moved away.

  “My name is Sarah Montgomery. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure who you are.”

  “Alan Mellington.”

  “From Mellington Hall?” Sarah wasn’t too surprised.

  Alan nodded.

  So this is the Lord of the Manor, lying on my kitchen floor! The thought came unbidden.

  “What were you doing out in the cold without a coat, sir, and how did this happen?” She waved her hand up and down his body to indicate the injuries.

  He paused before answering. That the young woman was very presumptuous and forward in speaking to him this way hardly seemed to register in his mind. His physical state was his chief concern. He realised that his shoulder and upper leg hurt badly, but he couldn’t remember what had happened. “I don’t know.”

  Sarah could tell from his vague response that he was confused, and so she didn’t push him.

  “You’d better get some more sleep, sir,” she counselled, kneeling yet again, pulling the covers back over his shoulders, and tucking them in.

  Alan thought this woman would make a good nanny. He felt like a small child being cared for in this way. But he didn’t think about it for long. Within minutes, he was asleep again.

  Sarah was pleased that he seemed to be recovering from the ordeal. She felt more confident now that she could sleep the next couple of hours in her own bed, so she stoked the fire, climbed the steps, and climbed into her own comfortable bed, exhausted but satisfied.